


Onism

by signifier



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: FAHC, my hand slipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifier/pseuds/signifier
Summary: OnismNoun. the frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with stranger place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing that you’ll never get to see before you die – and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.Michael’s not there when Gavin dies.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Onism

_Noun_. the frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with stranger place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing that you’ll never get to see before you die – and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here. 

Michael’s not there when Gavin dies. 

He’s rounding the corner of the building, shoes slipping on gravel and his undone shoelaces as he bolts towards the van Gavin’s observing from. He can see it now; the large tires, blacked out windows and the stranger with a gun ripping open the side door. Michael keeps on running – doesn’t make it.

Michael’s stood just a few feet away when the man fires two shots from his pistol. He doesn’t hear it across the comms; too drowned out with the rest of the gunfire, but he does hear it in real life. He hears Gavin scream, too, before the second shot silences him.

He doesn’t realise he’s frozen dumbly out in the open until the man turns, sees him and raises his gun to fire. The stranger misses, fixes his aim and then he’s hitting the ground as a bullet goes straight through his neck.

It’s Ryan, lowering his gun and shoving at Michael’s shoulder. ‘The fuck are you doing? Running out like that and letting one of them shoot at you?’

He shakes him when he doesn’t respond.

‘Hey, Michael I’m talking to you, what are you-‘ Michael can see him in his peripheral, sees the way he follows Michael’s gaze to the van.

Michael reckons that’s the moment he clocks the open van door. Ryan’s words always come out quieter when he’s wearing his mask, but Michael doesn’t miss the small ‘Gavin?’ that falls from his lips.

Ryan’s arm falls from his shoulder. He slowly walks towards the van, steps over the stranger before peering into the backseats. Just for a second, an overwhelming sense of hope overtakes the numb cold in Michael’s chest, but the way Ryan staggers backwards, rips off his mask and pukes onto the driveway crushes that immediately.

Still, Michael stays frozen. They’re all going to ask him what happened, because he was there. He was there when Gavin died, but he wasn’t, because he was _too late_.

His mind drifts. He thinks of all the things he’ll do differently; next time. He’ll double knot his shoelaces next time they go on a heist. He’ll run faster and train harder in his track classes. He’ll stay outside the building to protect him. He’ll tell him on the comms to leave. He’ll make him stay at the safehouse. He’ll be in two places at once; running around the corner of the building, yelling at the top of his lungs to distract the man before his other-self jumps out of the van and pops him straight in the head.

He’ll be there next time.

Except, there won’t be a next time, because Gavin is dead.

Michael thinks of Gavin; bright eyed and eager as he raises a glass.

‘Well, lads, if this is how we die then it’s not a bad way to go,’ he cheered. He said it every night before a heist. Michael would always roll his eyes, shove him lightly and watch the drink slosh over the side of his raised cup.

‘Nice one you fucking idiot. Jinx us all.’

‘It’s not a _jinx_ , Michael, it’s reversed psychology on the universe!’

‘Shut the fuck up; I’ll reverse psychology _your_ universe,’ Michael would taunt.

‘That doesn’t make sense.’

When Michael comes back to himself, he’s on the floor, somebody kneeling next to him as they try to get their arms around him. Somebodies screaming. Raw, sorrowful sobs, and his throat hurts and his eyes stings at the sound of it.

He doesn’t realise it’s him.


End file.
